


ad astra

by cazei



Series: Newsies Works by Readeatsleeprepeat [13]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 24 hour walmart, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blind Character, Blind Race, College, College dorms, Deaf Character, Deaf Davey, Disabled Character, F/F, F/M, Fights, Gay, Group chat, Italian, M/M, Multi, Polygot Race, Punk Spot, Race is blind, Roommates, Sap Spot, Spot is a polysci major, Spot is contradictory, TOTALLY BASED THIS ON DAREDEVIL, Texting, Walmart, college food, delancy bull shit, just generally really gay and diverse, sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazei/pseuds/cazei
Summary: ad astra - to the stars-just your casual college au. oh, but race is blind, spot istotallynot going soft, davey is a deaf nerd, and jack is awkwardly relatable.-When Race holds out his own hand upon reaching Spot’s side, Jack shoots Spot a look.“He had his hand stuck out already,” Spot narrates for Anthony.Race laughs. “I'm blind, mate.”-new chapter: five





	1. cynosure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VioletLopez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletLopez/gifts).



> blind race au 
> 
> college au 
> 
> what more do u need
> 
> oh n this is for ade bc he's my bud and why not 
> 
> probably 4 me 2 edit this but yolo i'm tired enjoy this piece of shjt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynosure; a focal point for admiration

 

The sky is blue.

Spot knows this; he's looked at it often enough. It's just a fact of life. The sky is blue, his name is Sean, grass is green... Really, he can go on.

Saying that the sky is blue is just stating the obvious for most people.

Then, Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins walked into his dorm room on the first day of college, equip with his dark sunglasses and cane.

-

Spot looks up from his book when there's a knock at the door. He rolls his eyes and checks his watch - his roommate was due ages ago. Freshmen move-in ends in an hour; after that, you need a pass to get into the dorms.

"Come in!" He calls, wincing at his strong Brooklyn accent.

There's a moment of hesitation before the door swings open. A young man, freshman like himself, walks into the room awkwardly. Blond curls top a pale face with a pair of dark sunglasses delicately placed on a short nose.

Spot is tossing his book to the side and swinging himself off the bed before he tells himself to move.

"Hey," Spot says cautiously. He's not ableist, not by any means. He just doesn't have much experience with blind people, and Sean doesn't want to make an ass of himself.

His brother, Jack's, boyfriend is Deaf. He knows ASL. He's been on the other end of Jack's rants about how cool Deaf culture is.

But, he's yet to encounter a blind person in his life.

"Hi," The other boy says while scratching at his curls nervously. "Is this, uh, room 239?"

Spot nods before mentally kicking himself. This kid is blind: he can't see Spot nodding.

"Yes," Spot says and clears his throat. "239. Room 239, yes."

His roommate laughs nervously. "Yeah, uh, this building isn't really ADA compliant. No braille on the room numbers."

"Wow," Spot says, "and in the pamphlets they claim to be 'disability friendly'. Fuckers."

Laughter fills the small room for a second. "I'm Spot," Sean says. "Sean Conlon, actually, but everyone calls me Spot."

"Spot?" His roommate says, and his eyebrows arch with disbelief. "Of all nicknames..."

Spot shrugs stupidly. "I am covered in freckles. As a kid, it was worse."

"Lucky for you, I won't be makin' comparisons. My name is Anthony - Anthony Higgins. Nickname is Racetrack, though."

The Brooklyn teen exhales sharply. "And you made fun of my nickname?"

Anthony shrugs his shoulders, moving the duffle bag that rests on them. "At least mine has a dark, tragic background."

"Forgive me for thinking otherwise," Spot laughs. "With those blonde curls of yours, I doubt you have a tragic background."

Thankfully, Race doesn't correct him, get mad, or anything. Really, he should've.

"Okay, fine," Race says instead. "I'll admit. My first word was racetrack, that's all."

There's more to the story, but it isn't relevant right now.

At nothing else being added to the conversation, Race steps inside.

"So," Race says, closing the door behind him. "I'm blind."

"You are."

"Is... Is that going to be an issue?"

"What?" Spot says with disbelief.

Race fidgets with the handle of his cane. "I'm blind. I'm not accusing you of being an ableist or something, but I can totally understand if you'd rather have someone... else room with you."

Spot rolls his eyes. "I just rolled my eyes, by the way. Of course I don't want to switch. You seem like a nice guy. I mean, if you turn out to be a racist, sexist jerk then we'll have words, but for now we have no issues."

Race seems to deflate with relief. "I can confirm I am neither racist nor sexist nor homophobic."

"Brilliant," Spot says, having made up his mind ages ago.

"Where's my bed?" Race asks.

"About... A yard to the left and then a few feet forward," Spot says, looking at the room to confirm his estimate.

"Can you...?" Race starts shyly.

Spot startles. "Not to sound like a total asshole, but I have no idea what to do."

Anthony shrugs. "I mean, okay. Just stand next to me."

Spot does. On his way, he also kicks a spare bag to the side. He really needs to get neater.

"Okay," Spot says. "I'm to your left."

"Good," Race laughs. "Since I hold my cane with my right, the left is the best spot. Okay, now just stand casually; like you're walking down the street."

Spot adjusts himself, relaxing slightly. Race's hand comes up from his side, curled fingers slightly as it brushes the fabric of Sean's jacket. It stops at the curve of his elbow, resting in the crook. Race grabs Spot's upper arm.

"Now, we just walk. Usually, you don't need to describe anything. Unless I'm about to run into something, of course."

Spot nods. "Easy enough."

They walk, Spot leading slightly but not by much. They reach Race's bed, and Anthony sits.

"Thanks," Race says.

Spot shrugs; he's going to mentally bruise himself with all this kicking. "It was nothing."

"So," Spot continues, "what do you want to major in?"

"I'm thinking language or mathematics. Probably probability or something like that."

"Really? I'm political sciences."

"That's cool," Race says. "Maybe one day I can say that I roomed with our current president."

Spot laughs. "Here's to hoping."

-

They finish their unpacking and settle into their room. Spot gets more information on how to help Race adjust, and in turn Race thanks him relentlessly for helping him.

Spot's half of the room is organized chaos. It's an improvement from his room at home; it's the least he can do for Race. He doesn't want to treat him like less than a human, he's not babying him, but Spot would much rather have to keep his room clean now than clean up a bloody Race later.

Spot's now sitting in bed, pouring over a letter from the school. It goes in detail over the next week, which is full of orientations and tours. Race is leaning against the wall by his headboard. His cane is cast aside as he has long since figured out the lay of the room. He listens attentively as Spot narrates the letter, filled with tons of sarcastic commentary.

"... And then the chess club has a dinner-thing to welcome new members on Tuesday. Fuckin' nerds," Spot says.

Race chuckles. "Don't be rude."

"No, I know who runs it. Davey Jacobs - trust me, that kid is a nerd."

“Fair enough,” Race laments.

  
An hour later, there's a knock on the door. Race is pouring over a braille textbook, earbuds in so he can focus. Spot elects to answer it.

He stands carelessly and lumbers over to the door. Pulling it open, Spot looks into the eyes of one Jack Kelly.

“Hey, asshole,” He stepbrother greets affectionately.

  
Spot rolls his eyes. “Moron.”

“Meet the roomie?” Jack says, standing on his toes to see over Spot’s shoulder.

As if queued, Race speaks up, “Spot?”

“Hey, dude,” Spot says. “My brother Jack is at the door. He's a sophomore; he’s dating that Davey kid I was talking about.”

Race shrugs the books off his lap and struggles to his feet. Not bothering to grab his cane, he walks to the door.

Jack holds out a hand, not matching the dark glasses with blindness.

When Race holds out his own hand upon reaching Spot’s side, Jack shoots Spot a look.

“He had his hand stuck out already,” Spot narrated.

Race laughs. “I'm blind, mate.”

Realization shocks Jack, and he jumps. “Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“You're good,” Race says casually.

Jack chuckles nervously. “Dave’ll be here soon. We were wondering if you and your roommate would want to go to the pub across the street.”

“We are nineteen,” Spot says not-amusedly. “You're the only twenty-one year old.”

Jack swats his brother’s arm. “They do serve other food and drinks than alcohol. What’d’ya say?”

“I’ll pass,” Race says. “I need to stop by Student Disability Services for the thousandth time so they'll leave me alone. Thanks for the offer.”

Spot frowns. “Need me to walk you?”

Race shakes his head. “My parents walked me through it before they left -- they were going to walk me to my room but they had to get my younger sister to a college across state.”

“You're sure?” Spot says, grabbing his shoes and wallet.

“Positive. Jack, it was nice meeting you,” Race says.

-

“You should join a club.”

“I don't need to join a club, Sean.”

“Anthony. I've known you for a week, and you are the most fucking isolated person I've ever met. You should join a club, make some more friends.”

“Why do I need more friends? I have you, and Jack, Davey, Mush, and Blink.”

“All of the people on that list you met because of me.”

“So?”

“Antony. Please?”

“Fuck. Fine. I can't even see those puppy eyes and you've convinced me.”

“I'm convincing like that.”

“Mm.”

“What about physics club?”

“No.”

“Chemistry?”

“No.”

“Jesus, what do you want to do? Italian Society?”

“Actually, yes.”

“You're fucking with me.”

“Non proprio.”

“What?”

“Not quite, in Italian. My entire family speaks it.”

“Are you from Italy or something?”

“Detroit.”

“Close enough.”

-

They're strolling around the courtyard, and Spot watches as Race’s shoulders release all tension when he hears someone laugh. This is when Spot knows he's fucked.

Spot does make friends. He makes alliances and enemies. He isn't soft.

He's a foster child from the wrong side of Brooklyn. He fights before he thinks.

In short, Sean Conlon shouldn't have a fire inside him that wants to protect Race from every injustice he will face.

And it terrifies him.

-

They're a month into the school year when the first incident happens.

Morris and Oscar Delancey apparently decided that acting their age was too difficult. Instead, why not pick on the blind kid?

Spot didn't mean to start a fight. He didn't mean to split his knuckles open, or draw blood.

But when he's trying to walk to his second class of the day, fueled only by ramen noodles and rage, and he stumbles upon Anthony surrounded by the Delancey’s and their friends, being pushed around and taunted… well, he reacts.

It only takes a few minutes. After the first few punches, most of them scattered. Even Race and Spot were hobbling away before the campus police were called.

As they walk, Race clutching firmly to Spot, the Italian tries to speak. “Spot -- I-”

“No,” Spot says.

“You didn't have-”

“Talk in the dorm. Not now,” Spot cuts off again. Race stops trying.

As soon as the heavy oak door shuts behind them, though, Race erupts. “You shouldn't have done that.”

“They were shoving you, Ant.”

“I can take care of myself,” Race calls, angrily tossing his cane down.

“You shouldn't have to.” Spot is nearly shouting.

Race huffs, tossing his glasses down in aggravation. It's the first time Spot has seen his eyes.

“But I can. I'm not some hopeless charity case that you need to protect!

Spot throws his backpack on his bed and the swivels to face Race. “You think that's why I helped you?”

“What other reasons are there?” Race says, shouting as if he wants the whole campus to hear. He uses his words as weapons, and they are sharp.

“Goddamnit, Anthony! Because we're friends! You're my friend, the closest I've ever had, and I don't want to see you hurt!”

Race exhales so quickly, it's like a deflating balloon.

“What?” Race asks breathlessly.

“Jesus, Tony, you ask that like you've never had anyone care about you before,” Spot says, trying to bring banter into the conversation to whip away the emotions he likes to hide.

Race picks his glasses up after a few seconds of search-and-find. Spot ends up kicking them softly into his fingers.

“I haven't,” Race says firmly. “I'm a middle child of seven. My parents have better things to worry about than the blind son, and so did everyone else in my goddamn life. You're basically my first true friend.”

“I'm gonna hug you now, and then we're never going to talk about it,” Spot says.

Race sniffles. “Fine.”

Arms stretch around figures, and heartbeats sync. Sean doesn't want to let go.

-

They get along better after that. Their lives turn into a system. Wake up, go to class, do homework, take a walk, finish homework, go to bed. Meals and breaks not included.

During these evening walks of theirs, they always end up doing something different every time.

Today, a bright November day, they walked through a nearby park. The light is soft and sweet, wrapping you in its comfort like a sweater or a soft blanket. The air is cold yet thrilling to inhale. It's the perfect day.

Race is lying in the grass, eyes closed or open it doesn't matter. He is totally blind, no light perception. He hasn't seen a thing since a concussion and brain surgery took his sight from him when he was eight.

Ironically enough, he was trying to race someone up a tree when he fell. This is the root of his nickname.

“You remember colors right?” Spot asks. He lies next to Race, eyes facing the trees that hang above them.

“Yes,” Race says. “Every day you ask this, and every day my answer is the same.”

Spot elbows him. “Smart ass.”

But, the bickering is pushed aside as Race’s favorite part of the day comes.

“Okay,” Spot says. “The trees are a lot brighter today. It's almost as if they took the sunshine from Crutch’s voice and inhaled it. Don't chuckle at me, I'm being serious. They're all sorts of colors. Red, orange, yellow. Some purples ones, too. And the sky, oh, man. It's so blue you wouldn't believe it, Ant.

“I can't see a cloud in sight through the branches. It looks like staring across an ocean. You squint, as if you're trying to see past the waves, but all you find is more blue.”

“Poetic,” Race snorts.

Spot elbows him. “Shuddup. I’m punk, ask anybody.”

(And isn't that a popular rumor.

‘You know that Conlon kid? From Brooklyn?’  
‘The one who got into a fight with the Delancey’s in September?’  
‘Yeah.’  
‘What about him?’  
‘Well, Sarah says he's a total softie sometimes.’  
‘No fucking way. Him?’  
‘Yeah. All you gotta do is make that Blind Italian kid sad.’  
‘Wow. Seems unbelievable.’  
‘He fought the Delancey’s for that kid.’  
‘I retract my previous statement.’

This is only one of the many conversations surrounding the two young men.)

“Yeah, sure,” Race rolls his eyes. “Keep going.”

Spot does.

 

 


	2. halcyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halcyon; Happy, sunny, care-free.

_ Chat: the meme team  _

 

_ Spot: ATTENTION  _

 

_ Kath: o boy  _

 

_ SPOT: IT’S NEARLY THANKSGIVING  _

 

_ Sarah: Good observation  _

 

_ Jack: is therea point 2 thi s  _

 

_ Spot: shut it sante fe  _

 

_ Spot: but yes there is a brilliant point  _

 

_ Spot: we need to have a group thanksgiving dinner  _

 

_ David: Sure. Sounds fun. _

 

_ Spot: ew caps  _

 

_ Kath: you started this conversation by typing in caps  _

 

_ Spot: and i regret it okay  _

 

_ David: What does Race say? _

 

_ Spot: i can hear his phone trying to read all these messages to him it’s really funny _

 

_ - _

 

“Really, Spot? Making fun of the disabled kid and his talking phone.”

“Yes.”

 

-

 

_ Spot: o he’s glaring  _

 

_ Race: Yes I think that’s a good idea send send message spit why won’t these send i hate texting  _

 

_ Spot: ahahahahahahahah  _

 

_ Spot: i’m going to type for him _

 

_ Race: Hi my name is Anthony I’m lame _

 

_ Jack: dns’t his phone read what u type out louud? _

 

_ Kath: yes. it does. i wonder what this conversation sounds like irl,, _

 

_ - _

 

“Spot, I can  _ hear  _ you typing that.”

 

“Shush. No you can’t.”

 

“I’m  _ blind. Not deaf. _ ”

 

“Davey would be offended.”

 

“There was nothing offensive about that! Ugh, give me back my phone! Where did you go? Spot. Stop trying to hide, I can hear you laughing.”

 

-

 

_ David: So, what do you guys want to do for dinner? _

 

_ Spot: nit antyhting gridd _

 

_ Kath: race, stop trying to type with spot’s phone. use siri to text. _

 

_ Race: IGNORE RACE’S TEXT FRPM MY PHOPNE I CANHEAR HIM SAYING IT _

 

_ Spot: Is this working yes it is I can hear it. Please don’t decide on anything gross. And I’m not sitting by Spot. He tried to make me. Yes you did. Eat all of the vegetables he didn’t want by putting them on my plate yesterday. _

 

_ Sarah: You’re a mess  _

 

_ Spot: we traded back phones _

 

_ Crutchie: So, Thanksgiving?!! _

 

_ - _

 

“That’s false, Race.”

 

“I think I would notice when I had twenty carrots and no meat, _ Sean.” _

 

_ “ _ Okay, fine. That doesn’t mean  _ they  _ needed to know.”

 

“Siri call the ADA.”

“ _ Race _ .”

 

_ - _

 

_ Private Message: Jack, David  _

 

_ Jack: so when spot calls me 2 say that race is suing him bc ada??they’re jokin right? _

 

_ David: It’s their humor. Race likes to threaten the ADA on people. _

 

_ David: It’s like when you tripped and then called the sidewalk homophobic. _

 

_ Jack: o ok thanks babe ily _

 

_ David: Yeah, yeah. I love you, too. Now bring me some more Triscuits.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Private Message: Spot, Kath _

 

_ Spot: youre taking italian right  _

 

_ Kath: yes. _

 

_ Spot: ,,  _

 

_ Kath: fine. what do you need help with? _

 

_ Spot: what does this mean “se il meglore” _

 

_ Kath: ? you mean ‘sei il migliore’ ? _

 

_ Spot: yes.  _

 

_ Kath: does race keep saying it? _

 

_ Spot: yes. _

 

_ Spot: don’t leave me on read what does it mean  _

 

_ Spot: KATH _

 

_ - _

 

_ chat: the meme team _

 

_ Crutchie: Guys?!?!! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i started school and died so this was short but its all i got im sorry


	3. fugacious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fugacious; Fleeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this instead of go to sixth hour haha

_ Chat: the meme team  _

 

_ Spot: so its settled.  _

 

_ Sarah: Yep ok I’m going to repeat everyone’s jobs so they don’t forget  _

 

_ Kath: you go, babe. _

 

_ Sarah: ;D _

 

_ David: I really don’t need to see this.  _

 

_ Kath: (*3*)ノ* _

 

_ Spot: ? _

 

_ Kath: im blowing sarah a kiss  _

 

_ David has left the chat  _

 

_ Jack has added David to the chat  _

 

_ David has left the chat  _

 

_ Jack: baBE _

 

_ Crutchie: He can’t see that! _

 

_ Jack has added David to the chat  _

 

_ Jack: baBE _

 

_ David: Have they stopped? _

 

_ Kath: for now. _

 

_ Jack: take wht u can get bby  _

 

_ Sarah: Wait so dave doesn’t like me flirting with my gf but he can flirt with his bf  _

 

_ David: I don’t make the rules.  _

 

_ Race: You kind of just did.  _

 

_ Sarah: BACK ON TRACK  _

 

_ Sarah: Kath and I will clean up our apartment for our meal, set the table etc  _

 

_ Sarah: Crutchie, you have paper plates and cups  _

 

_ Sarah: Jack n David get the main meal, doesn’t have to be turkey  _

 

_ Sarah: Race and Spot get snacks and drinks  _

 

_ Sarah: And everyone also bring other side meals  _

 

_ Spot: aye aye captain  _

 

_ Jack: copy that _

 

_ David: Let’s go get us some food.  _

 

_ Crutchie: I won’t let you down!! :D _

 

-

 

Race listens as Siri reads the rest of his messages. 

 

“So, we have drinks and snacks?” He asks to clarify. 

 

Spot unessesarily nods. He still has yet to have broken this habit. “Yep. And we have to be over there in less than twenty-four hours because we waited so long to plan this. So, uh, wanna go Ten P.M. shopping at the Walmart down the street?”

“If I ever say no to that,” Race says, pushing a braille book off his lap, “call 911.”

 

-

It’s eleven at night in a busy, bustling town. Lights flash through the glass window before disappearing as cars pass. The store is eerily silent and darker than usual, but this doesn’t affect either boy. 

 

Spot strolls through the aisles with a methodical precision. He knows where everything is in this store -- he spends a lot of time in 24-Hour Walmarts, for some reason. The cart he pushes is heavy and already flowing with snacks and pop. 

Race sits, folded in the cart like a child. He tilts his head to the ceiling that he cannot see and laughs with glee when Spot makes a purposely sharp turn to get into the chip aisle. 

 

“Bet you can go faster,” Race says, a daring look on his face.

Spot rolls his eyes, because he feels he needs too, even if Anthony cannot see it. “Deal.”

 

They make it to the Spicy Nacho Doritos in record time, stopping to pick up a box of Triscuits for Davey, who has an obsession with them. 

 

-

 

“We need ice cream, Spot.”

 

“We really don’t.”

 

“Oh, come on.”

 

“It’s  _ Thanksgiving _ .”

 

“Thanksgiving is the  _ whitest  _ holiday ever, Sean. Did you know that when the colonists and their cattle arrived in America, ninety percent of the native population died because they lacked antibodies to fight the diseases they carried? Only  _ thirty percent  _ of the European population died during the Black Plague, and that seems to be all anyone talks about. America didn’t even conceive the idea of Thanksgiving--”

 

“Race.”

 

“...Yeah?”

“You’re right. Let’s call it just a friend hang out. Thanksgiving sucks.”

 

“So this means we can get the Blue Moon?”

 

“... You  _ fuckin-” _

 

-

 

A small girl wanders the aisles, looking for her mother. Aadila hasn’t seen her mother in a long time, and she’s beginning to panic. Her small steps are growing quicker, and she hasn’t known fear like this in her entire six years of life. 

 

She turns the corner, trying not to let the painful tears fall at the sight of the dark sky.  _ What if her mother left her? What if she doesn’t come back? What if--? _

The sound of bickering interrupts her thoughts, and she turns to look in the opposite aisle. 

 

There, a tanned boy sits in a cart filled to the brim with colorful packages and drinks. He’s grabbing onto the bars of the cart, weaving his fingers, and shrugging his shoulders. Dark glasses rest on his nose. 

A short boy pushes the car. He’s stocky and mean looking, but Aadila sees the spark in his dark eyes when arguing with the other about what to buy or not to buy. 

She walks over to them, completely hesitant and frightened. 

 

“Ex’cuse me,” She says. Neither are pulled from the trance their words have on the other. “Sir’s?”

Now the tanned boy tilts his head her way, and the short one turns. 

“It’s a little girl,” the short one says to the tanned one quietly, but Aadila hears. “Hi there.”

Aadila sniffs. “I-I can’t fin’ my mama.”

 

The stocky figure kneels down in front of her, hands on his knees. “Well, I’m Sean and this is Tony. We’re gonna help you find her.”

 

Tony starts to shift, and Sean lends a hand to get him out of the cart. As Aadila watches him stand, there’s something about him that is different from what she’s used to. 

 

Then, he unfolds a four-section cane from his hand, and she puts her finger on it. 

Literally. 

 

She waddles over to him and sticks her pointer finger on the white stick. 

 

Aadila tilts her head. “What’s ‘dis?”

 

Sean steps back and allows Tony the spot light. Tony grins in her direction.  “What’s your name?”

 

“Aadila Nouri,” Aadila says with sharp precision. Mama always made sure she knew the home phone number, too, in case of emergencies. This, apparently, isn’t relevant to the six-year-old as she waits for Tony to respond. 

 

“Well, Aadila, I’m blind. That means I can’t see. This stick helps me to know where I’m going.”

 

Aadila looks sad. 

“You made her upset, Ant,” Sean whispers. “Shit, what do we do? Is she gonna cry? Why are kids so difficult?”

 

“What’s wrong, Ms. Nouri?” Tony asks brightly. 

 

Aadila frowns. “My favorite col’r is blue. I want you to see it, too.”

Tony bends down, just like how Sean was a moment before. 

 

“Well, Aadila, I  _ used  _ to see colors. Now I can’t, but I have seen blue before. But, this head of mine is old, Aad. Nearly twenty years old. My memory isn’t as good as it was. Why don’t you describe it to me?”

 

The little girl brightens. “Okay!”

 

She begins to ramble on about the best things that are blue: her teddy bear, her mama’s hijab, her mother’s glasses frames, the pictures on her wall, her pillows, and more. While she’s doing this, Spot whispers to Race: “ _ This would be me if we met at this age _ .”

 

The smile won’t fade from Anthony’s lips for a while, that I can tell you. 

 

As soon as she’s done, Anthony thanks her for the description. Sean then gets her to rattle off her mother's phone number. 

Race shrinks his cane and allows Aadila to try to walk around with her eyes closed. With a hand on Spot’s sleeve, he listens to her giggle and laugh at running into shelves and objects. 

 

“Hello, Ms. Nouri? Hi, my name is Sean Conlon, and I think I found your daughter at Walmart… Oh, so your wife is here? Okay 345-4593, got it… Really, it’s no issue. Thank you… Have a lovely night.”

 

Spot hangs up the phone and dials the new number. He tries again. “Hello, Mrs. Nouri? Hi! My name is Sean, and I found a little miss Aadila here in aisle four… No, my friend and I can bring her to you… That’s alright… Okay, we can meet in the middle, say aisle seven? Brilliant, see you there.”

 

The iPhone is pocketed, and three kids make their way to aisle seven to find an extremely gracious mother. She offers to pay for their food, but they settle on exchanging numbers after Race quips that “ _ hey, I mean, we can babysit if you and your wife ever want a date night. Aadila is an amazing girl; consider that our payment _ .

 

-

 

In the checkout line, at twelve in the morning, Race is tucked underneath Spot’s arm, falling asleep on his shoulder. There’s only one cashier open, and one person in front of them but the young man is buying far too much alcohol for this line to go fast. 

 

When they reach the front, Race is  _ literally  _ dozing standing up with Spot as a pillow. The old cashier smiles. 

 

“Find everythin’ alright?”

 

Spot grins. “I think we did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made up aadila nouri and her mother's for this but im in love with that family already o shit
> 
> \- time lines wtf are those 
> 
> \- next chapter: gay ~~thanksgiving~~ meal on a traditionally white holiday 
> 
> \- soz i dont update a lot im not even busy i have no excuse other than the pains of life 
> 
> \- i should get a twitter and just complain about stuff like that


	4. epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epiphany; A sudden revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not edited. i figured i should write the not-thanksgiving as close to thansgiving as i can. that didnt happen. here.

He thinks, mostly, that it was the fear of rejection that stopped him.    
  


Sean likes to think of himself as brave. His parents are Ex-Military, and they raised him as such. Until, everything got to be too much for his mother, and she left them in the middle of the night. 

Now his father doesn’t let the drinks leave his hands. 

 

His older brother was always more outgoing than he was, always the risk taker…

  
Then, of course, he was gone too. Car crash, when Spot was fourteen. Sawyer was seventeen, drunk out of his  _ fucking mind _ , and done with the world. 

 

So, that leaves just Spot and his father, who he rarely saw in the light of day. Spot, who was always his brother's follower, left to navigate the twisting, turning road of grief by himself. It was years since he saw both his mother and brother and years since he had a sober conversation with his father when Sean Conlon was sent off to live with the Larkin’s and their son Jack. 

 

A year after that, he was being called into the school's student center. The academic counselor requested to see him, to ask where he wanted to go to college. That single conversation, the question, got him started with the rest of his life. 

 

The first in his family to graduate with a degree sounded like something he’d want to have to his name, but it took him several months to even send in a letter. He ended up finishing his application essay an hour before it was due. He didn’t even have time to proofread; he sent his future away in the form of a five-hundred-word essay. 

 

He almost didn’t go through with it, and then where would he be?

 

His whole life is based on false hope, on false hope, and then some more false hope. 

 

Which brings him back to his original point. 

 

He’s known Anthony “Racetrack” Higgins for four months now, and they’ve been some of the best months of his life. He’s gotten closer with Jack and Davey than he’s ever been, Kath and Sarah are his closest female friends, and,  _ fuck _ , he has a crush on an Italian blind kid who stomped his way through the walls over his heart. 

 

He wouldn’t say it was love. Not even he, as soft as he can be, can fall that easy. 

But he’s pretty damn close. 

 

Jack told him to tell Tony, told him that they feel the same for each other. 

 

Spot didn’t tell him how he felt; Jack is just that kind of a brother: a pain in the ass, but one you can’t live without. 

 

But. 

 

The fear of rejection. 

 

_ The wrinkles forming on Anthony’s face, as he tries to think of a way out of the situation; how to let Sean down easy. The muted look of disgust that Race will ever see on himself but Spot will never forget.  _

 

_ The stopping of their park walks, and the descriptions of the sky and the leaves and how they all connect and differ at the same time.  _

 

_ The avoidance of Spot that was soon to be inevitable, and how Race would never want to be alone with him.  _

 

_ It will end with Race requesting to switch dorms, but it will start with Spot’s confession.  _

 

A sharp laugh shakes him from his haze. 

 

Race, who had been listening to an audiobook on his bed, had -- somehow during Spot’s mind-ramble -- managed to start talking to someone on the phone without Spot noticing. 

 

Sean looks over, watching the soft light flow through the blinds and rest on Race’s messy curly. His sunglasses are on the desk between the two of them, and Spot remembers when Race first took them off when he wasn’t exasperated with him, and needed to use the gesture to make a point (“ _ Hey. So. Uh. This may seem like nothing to you, but I know my eyes are… Unfocused. And. Well, this means I trust you, so. Congrats.) _

 

“Whatever, Sarah. We won’t forget the food we bought several hours ago,” Race says. “Uh, huh. Okay… See you soon.”

 

Race tosses his phone to his pillow. 

 

“They’re getting impatient. Apparently, they want us there before Jack and David so it’s less ‘ _ Hey you’re my brother and dating my Ex, who also slept with my current partner’ _ .”

 

Spot snorts. “How could that ever be awkward?”

 

Race jokingly considers. “You know, I don’t know. Seems fine to me.”

 

Spot exhales and tosses his weight off the bed, forcing himself to stand. “Up an’ at ‘em. Let’s go have dinner on a perfectly normal Thursday, no historical meaning whatsoever.”

 

“Don’t forget the Blue Moon!” Race calls. “ _ Ow _ !  _ I know I you to stop throwing pillows at me, jackass! Stop trying to hide, I can hear you laughing! This happens every time! You try to hide, but you’re shit at staying quiet, and --” _

 

\--

 

They knock together, but Spot neglected to tell Anthony that he’s knocking on the wall  _ next  _ to the door. 

 

He lets him have the moment.

 

The door is flung open by a messy-haired Katherine. “Boys!”

 

“Marmocchio!” Race says in the same tone. Katherine swats his arm. 

 

“ Stronzo,” She says warmly, but judging by Race’s face, it was  _ not  _ a compliment. 

 

Race tilts his head as if he’s listening. “Dov'è la tua lesbica?”

 

“Sarah!” Katherine calls. “Race just called you my lesbian!”

 

Spot laughs. “I am so learning Italian next.”

 

Kath laughs as she hears Sarah’s response of  _ damn right he did _ , and then asks, “Well, what are you learning now?”

 

Spot responds in a flurry of movements. 

“ASL,” He says a moment later. “And Braille, but I know more of ASL.”

 

Race tilts his head. “You’re learning braille?”

 

Spot scratches the back of his neck and flushes. “Uh, yeah.”

 

“Really?” Race brightens. “Since when?”

 

Spot mutters, “ _ Three and a half months ago?” _

 

Sarah interrupts, even though Kath was waving for her to not. “Hey, guys!” They both whip their attention to her as if she’s a drill sergeant. “Bring the food to the kitchen!”

 

Spot doesn’t need to lead Race, as he knows this apartment well, but they walk close anyways, and Spot alerts him of any obstacles.

 

Back in the doorway, Sarah catches Kath’s dark look. 

 

“What?” She asks. “What’d I do?”

 

Katherine clears her throat. “Did you know that Spot started learning Braille a half month after meeting Race?”

 

Sarah’s mouth drops open happily. “ _ Oh, my god! _ Really?”

 

“So is that a no, you didn't know?”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t know.”

 

“Neither did Race. Until, like, now.”

 

“ _ Holy shit _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! hope u enjoyed!


	5. lackadaisical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lackadaisical, lazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short and LATE bc depression

Sitting at the not-Thanksgiving dinner table is... awkward to say the least.

 

David and Jack are so ridiculously in love, that it makes Sean both disgusted and happy. After all, Jack is his brother, and he always will be. That doesn’t mean all the mush and romance doesn’t make him annoyed. Or jealous. Definitely not jealous.

 

Katherine and Sarah are as well, but it hits closer to home with David and Jack.

 

Something about the way how Jack signs and talks at the same time, which many Deaf people don’t like, but he does it to keep Dave in the loop... It reminds him of himself and Race, as much as that hurts to say so.

 

Soon enough, though, Race seems to forget his shock of _yours learning a language for me?_ and he turns back into his usual, annoying as fuck self.

 

Mostly, this means going along with whatever the sighted-people are talking about, and not wanting to ask questions for his own clarification. He doesn’t want to be a burden.

 

And while Sean heavily understands this, he never, ever wants his best friend to feel this way. He finds himself interjecting into the conversation more and more, trying to turn away from

how stupid this girl in biology looked, or how cute an actress was.

 

While Race embraces and loves his blindness — really, who thought all disabilities were something to be hated? Why would we code a trait to be so negative that people hate themselves for what they cannot control? — Sean wishes he could let everyone else know this. Like, the Professor of their Calculus class, who insists on writing everything on the board, and doesn’t allow voice recorders, even when Sean asks him to provide a computer written or verbal copy. When that same teacher, apologies for Race’s _hardship and faults_ and how he _can’t understand what it would be like to live like... that_.

 

Race usually responds to Sean with a, "at least I don’t live like him, hah," but Sean knows the words hurt. They have to.

 

Back to the point, even though he is so self righteous and brave, Sean still speaks up for him, even if Race doesn’t need him to. He does it because Race seems happier when he does, as if he wants changes made, because even if it isn’t a negative, he is disabled after all, but he doesn’t want to be a burden.

 

Even if it’s something as stupid as college drama, Sean just wants Race to be on the same page.

 

A sudden flick to his temple causes him to jolt. Sarah smiles at him, suspiciously-warm.

 

"Welcome back to the conversation, Sean."

 

He is so fucked. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry this is so short but i got a very positive message on tumblr abt this and i wanted y’all to know this isn’t abandoned! 
> 
> i’m just ! depression idk, i just have no motivation even though i have time sometimes, i just. couldn’t bring myself to do it. 
> 
> anyhow, tmi, i’m back for now dudes. 
> 
> tumblr @cazei yell at me for being gone

**Author's Note:**

> yo mates 
> 
> comment if u liked it  
> or if i did something to greatly offend you bc i am not blind and i very well may have accidentally fucked up 
> 
> please let me know
> 
> tumblr: calciumsulfide
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> **hey cas what's with all the non-english names that are overused and angsty af?**
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>  
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> **well self im glad u asked its bc im ruining these words for all of you**
> 
>  
> 
> **you hipster shits can never get these words tattooed without thinking of my sucky newsies fanfic that you all read in your newsies phase**
> 
>  
> 
> **yes.**
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> 
> ****Tumblr: @CalciumSulfide****

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Pin the Tail](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772341) by [blackflowercrowns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackflowercrowns/pseuds/blackflowercrowns)




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